


Electric Contact

by cecilantro



Series: 100 Days Of Ficlets [29]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 18:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14118264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: There's a lot to be taken from a simple touch.





	Electric Contact

**Author's Note:**

> i dont remember writing any of this what the hell

Caleb has been studying the Nein, steadily, one-by-one, he dedicates each night, each day, each fight to one of them.   
The recent order has been a study of Beau, though that was short lived. Can’t keep track of people if you’re unconscious, Caleb found, crumpled on the ground and bleeding out. He remembers, the last thing, Beau catching one of four arrows and sending it sailing back, the leader turning to ash in front of his fingertips, and then she turns to him in the last second of his consciousness, he remembers the distant,   
_ “Oh, shit!” _ and Fjord’s caw of surprise, like a crow.   
And then he’s gone down. He doesn’t remember how long he’s been out when Jester’s touch to his chest awoke him again, internal wounds closing under her glowing power, the arrows, however, stay in place. His determination to pay attention to Beau fades as she relaxes from combat position, he changes instead, initially, to Jester. Her very poor intimidation skills. And then he’s distracted by Mollymauk.   
He’s usually so diligent in his research, his mental documentation, but Molly is lit up by the radiant crackle of the glaive, it flashes along each sharp drawn line of his face, and his  _ voice _ , Caleb knows that he’s trying to cast but the way that he speaks is… somewhat distracting. Low, rough, beautiful, Caleb busies himself with crawling to the ashy remains of the leader to avoid the temptation of staring.

  
In the sewers, his attention had been on Yasha, and hers on him, he suspects. She had been drawn to him, though responsibility called her to Fjord’s aid, he’s shocked already by how dearly he cares for her. Moreso, perhaps, than some of the others.   
He looks from Jester to Beau to Fjord, and shakes his head a little, his answer to himself. He cares for all of them. And he  _ kind of _ hates that, but it’s so hard to go to battle and come so close to death beside people without developing some sort of affinity for them.   
Beau decks him in the arm, he can tell she’s trying to be gently, but it hurts anyway.   
“Owch.” He says, flat, it’s not a reaction, more a monotone joke. Beau’s face twists in unspoken apology,   
“We’re goin’ out for a drink.” She gestures to Jester and Nott, “Molly an’ Fjord said they’ll stay with you, if y’ don’t wanna join us?”   
“We can get a drink right here.” Caleb gestures to Wessik, serving a dwarven patron at the bar, and Beau grins,   
“Yeah, but the scene in here is  _ shit _ , Jester an’ I wanna catch an eyeful of somethin’ hot.”   
“Ah, and Yasha is not here.” Caleb lets himself smile a little, impish, Jester cackles, Beau pulls herself back an inch or two. She’s not embarrassed, just caught a bit off-guard,   
“Too busy storm chasin’, yeah.” she replies, easy, but Caleb catches the edge on her voice, like a wall she’s pulling up between them. He’s not sure if he’s happy about that, or upset, he’s still deciding if he really wants to stick around here. With them. Beau is staring at him, expectant.   
“Caleb?” She asks, after he meets her eyes and she sees the hollow of deep thought, “You comin’?”   
“Hm.” Caleb takes another second or so to think, and eventually decides, “No. You have fun, Nott,” he turns to her, “Please, no big trouble.”   
She’s beaming, a little proud that he needs to warn him, but she waves a hand dismissively,    
“I’m not stupid.” She tells him, “I’ll be fine.”   
Caleb sits back, just a little, in his chair,   
“I- I am sorry,” and shakes his head, “I forget, sometimes, and I worry, I care for you, dearly, Nott, I apologise that I’m overprotective.”   
Nott scoots over to pat his arm, careful,   
“It’s okay! I worry about you, too, Caleb.”   
Caleb huffs, half of a laugh, and gently jostles her shoulder,   
“That’s nice to hear, go, go on.” a gentle shove towards Beau, “Have fun.”   
Nott skitters away, past Beau, past Jester, over toward the door and pauses for the other girls to catch up to her. Caleb watches them leave, and once the door closes behind them, picks himself up and moves around to sit between Molly and Fjord.   
Molly’s tail pulls back, whipping, from Fjord’s arm, and Caleb pretends not to notice.    
“Evening.” He greets them, and Molly’s smile seems somewhat strained, he stands,   
“I’ll get a round in. What’re you drinking tonight, my- my- ah,” and he pauses, a split second as he tries to fill in the blank, “Fuckers.” he settles, the glimmer of Jester’s words on his tongue, a mirror of her usual grin on his face.   
“Whiskey.” Caleb lifts a hand, unspoken thanks, turns to Fjord. Fjord takes a few moments, thinking, then shrugs,   
“I’ll have what you’re havin’, Molly, or somethin’ cheap. I don’t mind.”   
“Ah, I know your tastes.” There’s a flash, too quick for Caleb’s eyes, and as Molly walks past, his tail precedes him to ruffle Fjord’s hair. Caleb hears him mutter a gentle, affectionate,    
_ “Bastard.” _   
Molly slips to the bar, confidence and style, Caleb watches and uses the excuse of distraction to gently, so gently, lean his shoulder to Fjord’s.   
Not a fan of sudden physical contact, indeed, but as of late, Caleb has found himself craving the warmth and weight of physical touch. He  _ could _ ask. He suspects that Molly would be more than willing, a hand on his knee, an arm around his shoulders, anything, he needs it.   
What he  _ has _ is Fjord’s shoulder pressed to his. It’s not enough, but it is far, far better than nothing.   
“You doin’ okay there, Caleb?” Fjord pops his mental bubble, Caleb turns and slips back down into his seat,   
“Hm,  _ ja, _ just…”   
“Watchin’ Molly, huh?” Fjord is unreadable. It doesn’t alarm Caleb. It would, if he understood the feelings that he was trying hard to lock out of his mind, but he’s doing so well in this endeavour that he doesn’t understand. It goes over his head.   
“ _ Ja _ ,” Caleb agrees, “He is- he is very interesting, it’s hard to- to put a, to get a good, a good peg on him. He’s an odd individual.”   
“Yeah, I’d say he’s strange in more ways than one.” Fjord tilts his chin up to catch sight of Molly, flashing him a grin from the bar, his tail high and waving, slow, like grass in a gentle breeze. Wessik slides three glasses his way, Fjord watches as he scoots the money across and takes his and Caleb’s glasses, distinguishable by colour, and turns. He picks up the last glass, Fjord’s, with his tail, an elegant spiral of lavender, and saunters back to the table. His tail eases through the gap between Fjord and Caleb’s heads, sets to the table, Fjord takes it before Molly has even unwound his tail and there’s a brief moment of fingertips brushing. Molly whines, Fjord laughs, a little, Caleb startles,   
“Mollymauk?” He turns, concerned, and Molly is holding his drink out to him, a red-violet flush starting at the tips of his ears. Caleb takes it, gingerly, and Molly flumps to his seat, tugging at the waistband of his pants until they inch up over his hip. Caleb can’t seem to draw his eyes away. Fjord nudges him, an elbow to the arm, sips his drink.   
Molly eyes them both, his tail is pulled tight to his back now, it wraps around the upper arm on his right, tucked away tight and still.   
“I didn’t know that you could use your tail in that way.” Caleb gestures to Fjord’s glass, currently at his lips, Fjord’s eyebrows raise a little as response. The tip of Molly’s tail frees itself from the folds of fabric to wiggle and wave.   
“It comes in handy on occasion.” Molly smiles, more fond and gentle than usual, “Though a glass is about the limit of what I can lift easily, any heavier and I struggle. Not the strongest in general, you know.” Molly stretches his arms, his fingers spread, it reminds Caleb of Frumpkin’s paws.   
“Seems useful.” Fjord chips in helpfully, “Y’don’t seem to use it often, though.”   
“Ah, there are some… issues.” Molly’s tail unwinds further, slowly, “It’s far more sensitive than it appears.”   
“In- in what way?” Caleb leans in, the glint in his eyes halfway between mischief and interest.   
Molly swallows. Caleb watches, drinks every  _ intimate _ detail. Fjord slips a hand to Caleb’s knee and watches the shock of him bristling, somewhat pleased, a hum.   
“I don’t need to tell you, Caleb.” Molly settles on, eventually, “You already know.”   
Caleb’s expression, his smile, turns to the borderline of  _ wicked _ , he holds his hands out, fingers unfurled, and waits. His eyes lock to Molly’s, Fjord watches with genuine interest, Molly’s tail peels away from his back and loops around, carefully, until the flat of the pointed tip sweeps over Caleb’s fingertips. Caleb, gently, shifts to take a soft hold of the tail just under the point, his other hand raises to run over the edge, the tip, the gold stud through one of the thinnest parts.   
“Did this not hurt?” Caleb’s thumb brushes the skin just below the stud, he watches Molly suppress a shudder,   
“It did.” Molly admits, “But I have an odd relationship with pain, anyhow, it’s no more than a minor inconvenience for me.”   
“Could y’ stop flirtin’ in front of me, you two? I’m feelin’ a little excluded, here.” Fjord’s tone isn’t irritation, it’s the low, fluid of invitation, the hum of implication. Caleb, immediately, becomes hyper aware of Fjord’s hand on his knee, still, but warm, heat leeching from him.    
“You know, I, I have. Hm.” Caleb stops to think, his thumb continues to rub back and forth over Molly’s tail, Molly continues to, essentially, vibrate. Caleb tries again, “I have some… trouble, on occasion, communicating what I want, or need.” He stops to think again, a buffer, Molly’s tail winds, slowly around his wrist, looping,   
“What do you need, Caleb?” it’s Fjord that asks, gentle, he squeezes against Caleb’s leg.   
“Some- sometimes,” Caleb fights to keep his voice level, to keep the sound of tears out of it, “I just, I need. Contact. It’s grounding, it helps to, to keep me, in the  _ now _ and not in the past. It… I…”   
Molly pulls his chair across the floor, it creaks as he scoots it closer to Caleb and loops an arm around him, gestures to Fjord as he moves. Fjord, too, moves closer, and Caleb finds, quite suddenly, both Molly and Fjord pull him into a loose, warm hug. The hand that Caleb still has, fingers wrapped around Molly’s tail, grips tighter, the other moves to Fjord’s arm, he pulls himself in and the other two with him, rests his face at the place their arms overlap in front of him and mutters a thanks.    
“Molly an’ I have been sleepin’ in a double bed, y’know, Caleb. Maybe you should join us?” Fjord suggests, voice soft, as close as he is to Caleb’s ear. And he feels Caleb smile against his arm, nod a little, tilts his head to butt to Molly’s, and in return, Molly pulls his head up to kiss Caleb’s temple. Fjord, on Caleb’s other side, mimics, a kiss to the fabric of the coat on Caleb’s shoulder, Caleb  _ laughs _ , soft, a chuckle more than anything,   
“We can save this for later. Should we head upstairs?” with his words, he tightens his grip, a little, on Molly’s tail, feels the tiefling jump against him.   
“Yes, I think we should.” Molly stands and pulls Caleb, gentle, and Fjord follows them up the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> seriously i lost about six hours of my life i dont remember any of it?


End file.
